


Pulse Points

by Irrevocably_Sherlocked



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 19:24:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7374325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrevocably_Sherlocked/pseuds/Irrevocably_Sherlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes John needs extra reassurance that Sherlock is alive and well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pulse Points

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on my tumblr [Snogbox1](http://snogbox1.tumblr.com/)

They didn’t come every night. Sometimes John could tell you what brought them on; a knife that cut too close to a sharp cheekbone, a bullet that passed much too close to pale skin or a impromptu river swim in a heavy coat. Those times were the worst, reminding John just how close he had come to losing him for good. But sometimes it was just the fact that he was missing from the bed, leaving a cold spot where John was seeking warmth. Whatever the cause, on the nights they came, he was right back there on the street in front of Barts, watching the blood seep into the pavement. Or in Magnussen's office watching the dark red stain blossom across that pale chest. Or on the plane watching Sherlock attempt to explain why he wasn’t an addict, while John was hoping that his heart wasn’t going to give out at any minute. The scene changes, but the theme is always the same. Sherlock is leaving. Leaving, going someplace John cannot follow. Going up against something John cannot protect him from, and there is nothing he can do to stop it. 

Those nights Sherlock seems to know instinctively what John needs. Or maybe he hears him, tossing and turning, sometimes screaming his name. But either way, he is there in the flash of an eye, pressing soft kisses to John’s temple, threading their fingers together. Letting John skim his fingers over the pulse point in Sherlock’s neck. “I’m here,” he’ll whisper. A soft reminder of his presence. And John is grateful. Grateful that Sherlock will press his body against his own, and comfort him back to slumber. 

Tonight was no different. Well the dreams were no different. But John woke with an urgency and an anxiousness he hadn’t felt in years. Sherlock was there, as always, His heartbeat a steady pulse under John’s fingers, breath hot in his ear as he whispered his reassurances to him. But tonight, it wasn’t enough. 

“John?” Sherlock whispered as John pulled hard on his shoulders, forcing his whole body down on top of his own. Sherlock collapsed, his lips automatically seeking the warmth of John’s neck. “You’re shaking. I’m here. You need to breathe.”

“Sherlock...just...please.” John hated how broken his voice sounded in the darkness of the room. But he couldn’t help it. He had the worst feeling that if he eased his hold one bit, Sherlock would vanish, be gone forever. 

Sherlock seemed to understand, his arms coming up to press between John and the mattress, his large hands wrapping around John, comforting touches. He pressed tiny kisses to John’s jaw and neck. “I’m here. Whatever you need, John. I’m not going anywhere.”

John was eventually able to get his body to stop shaking so violently. Sherlock’s words, his presence, doing enough to reassure him that he was real. This was real. Sensing that John had relaxed, Sherlock moved to roll off him, but John stopped him, threading his hands through Sherlock’s curls and holding him in place. 

“Stay.” John punctuated his words with a quick kiss to Sherlock’s lips. He pulled back briefly before diving in again, tilting his head and touching his tongue to Sherlock’s bottom lip. Sherlock sighed, melting into John’s embrace. John immediately took advantage, licking into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock’s sighs quickly turned to moans as their tongues rubbed together, the kiss becoming needier, more hungry. 

John could feel it, the need to put all his emotions into his lips, his tongue, his mouth, to show Sherlock just how much he loved him. Needed him. Wanted him. He was desperate for more, eagerly sucking on Sherlock’s tongue, holding him in place as he plunged into his mouth again and again. Sherlock was giving back as good as he was getting, his hands trailing down John’s neck, grabbing at shoulders, hips, snaking underneath to grasp John’s arse. The sound of their moans echoed in the room, Sherlock’s needier whimper tempered with John’s desperate growl. 

Sherlock broke away, panting, sitting up suddenly. John was about to protest, about to physically grab him and pull him back down, when he realized Sherlock was removing his clothing in quick efficient movements. John watched him disrobe, mouth going dry as each bit of pale skin was exposed. 

Once nude, Sherlock crawled back over John’s body, straddling his hips, and bending down to nip at John’s ear. 

“You’ve too many clothes on.”

John tried to laugh, but with the evidence of Sherlock’s desire pressing against his hip, it came out more like a strangled mewl. He all but ripped his shirt over his head, and four hands helped pull his pajamas and pants off, tossing all items carelessly over the side of the bed. Once they were both completely naked, Sherlock pressed his body closer again, lining up their erections as he captured John’s lips for another searing kiss. John groaned, and all but forgot to breathe as Sherlock pumped his hips experimentally, rubbing their lengths together. 

“Christ, that’s good,” he breathed. 

Sherlock smirked, shifting his hips again, his large hands sliding between John and the mattress to grab at his arse again. He leaned down and sucked at a spot behind John’s ear, before lightly nipping the abused skin. There would be a mark tomorrow, but John didn’t care. It would be more evidence that Sherlock is here. Was real. Was his. 

“What do you want?” Sherlock’s voice had dropped an octave, that sinful baritone making John’s cock twitch where it was pressed against Sherlock’s body. “Tell me, John. Whatever you want, I’m here.” Sherlock accented his words with another expert roll of his hips that had both of them moaning. And suddenly, John knew what he wanted. What he needed. 

John threaded his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, pulling him back down and sealing their mouths together. This kiss was softer, but no less passionate, their tongues sliding over one another’s, John’s hands moving from Sherlock’s head, to his nape, down his back and thighs. John loved the feel of Sherlock’s skin under his fingers, the softness, the sparse hair, the wiry strength held in check. Without breaking their kiss, John reached his right hand back and opened the bedside table, quickly reaching inside for the small bottle of lube. Sherlock, knowing exactly what he was after, broke the kiss, and smiled down at John, reaching over to take it out of his hand. He sat back on his heels, uncapping the bottle and preparing to spread some on his fingers. 

“You want to watch?” He smirked. 

John shook his head. “No.” He sat up, kissing up Sherlock’s neck, nipping along his jaw. John took his earlobe between his teeth, pulling gently, swirling his tongue around the tip. He shifted forward a bit more so he could whisper in Sherlock’s ear. “No. I want you to watch. As you open me up for you. I want you to fuck me.”

Sherlock gave a full body shiver, exhaling on a shaky moan. John sat back to watch the expressions play out over Sherlock’s face. Sherlock’s eyes were dark and hungry, but there was a wariness there too, a bit of apprehension, that John wanted to ease away. They hadn’t done this much, but when they had, it had been enjoyable for both parties. More than enjoyable, in fact. But every time, Sherlock was wary. But tonight, John needed this. Needed to feel Sherlock surrounding him. On him, in him. 

“John, I -”

“Please, Sherlock. I need you.” 

John watched those beautiful eyes darken further, the flush spread over his chest as he took in each heaving breath. He trailed his eyes down his lover’s body, where Sherlock’s cock was fully erect, and glistening at the tip. Definitely interested, then. But still- 

John placed his hands on the side of Sherlock’s face, “Sherlock, love, if you don’t want to-”

“No,” Sherlock whispered. “I want to.” He turned his head and pressed kisses to John’s wrist, his tongue darting out to chase his racing pulse. “I want you.”

“Come here.” 

Sherlock crawled back up John’s body, slotting their mouths together, before moving downwards. He trailed his lips over John’s neck, his shoulders, down his chest. Sherlock’s tongue darted out to swirl around the hard nub of John’s nipple, before closing his lips around it and sucking, gently. 

“Jesus,” John moaned, his back arching off the bed. 

“Not quite,” Sherlock replied, trailing his tongue across his chest to lavish attention on the other nipple. 

John ran his hands through Sherlock’s hair, not tugging, just holding, as Sherlock worked down his body, lavishing each patch of skin with his mouth. John loved him like this, loved when he took his time, turned his scientific focus onto John with laser precision. A nip here, a lick there, and Sherlock was suddenly between his thighs, his warm breath ghosting over his erection. John leaned up on his elbows to watch as Sherlock took him slowly into his mouth, those ever-changing eyes hot on his own, heavy lidded with desire. John couldn’t watch for long, the sensory overload too much, the wet heat of Sherlock’s mouth engulfing his cock, making him cry out. 

“Fuck, Sherlock.”

John threw his head back, his hips instinctively thrusting upwards. Sherlock backed off a bit, tonguing the slit, and wrapping a hand around the base as he began to work in a steady rhythm. He sank down lower on John’s length as his slick finger trailed over John’s perineum to circle the entrance to his body. John groaned as Sherlock teased, lightly rubbing the furled muscle as he kept a steady pace with his mouth on his cock. Slowly, Sherlock pressed in and John sucked in a breath. He hadn’t done this much before Sherlock, but once they had tried it, John realized how much he enjoyed the feeling of Sherlock’s fingers in him, those violinist’s hands playing him like the finest instrument he’d ever known. John shifted further down on the bed, causing Sherlock’s finger to sink into the first knuckle and both men moaned. The vibration around his cock caused a fresh spike of arousal to course through John, and he knew he wasn’t going to be able to sustain this slow torture for much longer. 

“God, Sherlock, more.”

Sherlock hummed, _god_ , and pulled his finger out, quickly sliding another next to the first. John growled, his body already starting to rock of it’s own accord, needing more. Sherlock pulled off John’s cock, resting his head on the joint of groin and thigh, breathing hard. 

“God John. You are a marvel.” He pressed kisses to John’s inner thighs, his other hand still wrapped around his cock and stroking in time to the thrusts of his fingers in and out of John’s body. “More?” He asked. 

“Yes, fuck yes -” John stopped breathing as a third digit was slid in next to the first two, the feeling of being filled almost overwhelming. 

“Breathe, John,” Sherlock whispered. “I’ve got you.” He slowly took John’s cock back in his mouth bobbing his head and sucking harder. 

John sucked in a shaky breath, leaning back up to watch Sherlock. He was rutting against the bed as he worked John open with his fingers, that mouth sliding up and down on his cock. “Jesus, Sherlock, my god.”

Sherlock chose that moment to subtly twist his wrist and crook his fingers ever so slightly, and it took every thing John had not to come immediately as his prostate was brushed. Sherlock did it again, and John knew he couldn’t wait any longer. 

“Now. Sherlock I need you now.”

Sherlock pulled off, and removed his fingers, leaving John feeling strangely empty. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he crawled up John’s body, settling between his spread thighs. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders and pulled him down, nipping and sucking at his lips, as Sherlock snaked a hand between them to slick up his own cock. 

John hitched his legs higher around Sherlock’s waist, Sherlock’s hands helping to hold them in place as he began to slowly sink in. Inch by inch, John could feel Sherlock sinking into him, and when he finally was fully seated, John sighed. It was perfect. 

“John,” Sherlock whimpered, resting his forehead against John’s. 

“Yes, love, oh god, you’re amazing. Move for me.” 

Sherlock slowly pulled out then sank back in, causing both men to groan at the sensation. He set a steady pace, rolling his hips, working slowly to take John apart. As their bodies rolled into one another’s, Sherlock pressed kisses to John’s lips, his jaw, his neck. Sherlock shifted his hips slightly, changing the angle, and John moaned loudly as Sherlock’s cock brushed his prostate on every stroke. John could feel his orgasm building, his muscles tightening as the pressure built deep in his belly. He hitched his legs higher around Sherlock’s hips, meeting him thrust for thrust, reaching his hands down to grab his arse and pull him deeper. Sherlock complied, grabbing onto the pillow by John’s head and rocking harder into his body. John was close, but he needed just a bit more to push him over that threshold. Sherlock, seeming to read his mind, or his body, snaked his other hand between them, stroking John in time with the motion of their hips. 

“John, that’s it. I’m here,” Sherlock panted, his hips stuttering as his own orgasm threatened to overtake him. 

John’s eyes snapped open to find Sherlock looking down at him, those eyes filled with both simmering desire and something else so potent, something so raw that John forgot how to breathe. Sherlock loved him, and was comforting him, protecting him, knowing that John needed this to reassure himself that Sherlock was here. Alive. Whole. His. Like letting John take his pulse, Sherlock was using his body to prove to him that he was not going anywhere. The thought was so powerful that John couldn’t stop his orgasm from crashing over him, his vision going white as he came, his release shooting hot and heavy between their joined bodies, Sherlock’s name falling from his lips. 

“Oh, John, John.” Sherlock chanted, grabbing John’s hips and thrusting harder into John’s body, his own orgasm devastatingly close. 

“Yes, Sherlock, you’re beautiful, amazing. Come for me, love,” John soothed him, brushing the sweaty fringe from Sherlock’s forehead. 

Sherlock thrust five or six more times before he was coming too, sobbing his release into John’s shoulder, before collapsing boneless on top of him. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, one hand coming up to thread into his curls as they both regained their breath. After a moment, Sherlock rolled off him, flopping onto his back, and John pressed a quick kiss to his lips before slipping off to the loo for a perfunctory cleanup. He wet a flannel for Sherlock, and padded back into the bedroom, not surprised to find that Sherlock hadn’t moved an inch. Cleaning him off, John tossed the used rag over the side before climbing back into the bed and snuggling close, drawing the duvet over the two of them.

“John?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry I hurt you.” It was little more than a whisper. 

John shifted so he could look at Sherlock. Sherlock’s face was turned away, and what little John could see looked entirely too forlorn for what had just transpired.

“What? Tonight? You didn’t hurt me at all. In fact, it was rather incredible.”

Sherlock’s lips gave the tiniest twitch at that, but he still didn’t turn his head. “No. Not tonight. Before. For...leaving. Bart’s, Magnussen, Mary, the plane. All of it. I’m sorry.”

John’s heart clenched. “Mary wasn’t exactly your fault. That one is on me I should think.”

Sherlock gave a motion with his hand as if to say, _whatever_. “John. Know that I - I love you. And I promise, I’ll never leave you again. Unless you ask it of me.”

John swallowed. “Then you’ll never leave,” he whispered. 

Sherlock turned his head sharply towards John, brow scrunched as he studied him. Apparently finding what he needed, he smiled, rolling on his side to face John. He reached over, taking John’s hand, and placed it on the side of his neck, just above his pulse point. “Then I’ll never leave.”


End file.
